


Slow Burn

by Re_Adrienne



Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Orgasm?, F/M, How Do I Tag, Nobody who MATTERS dies, Right?, Role Reversal, Romance, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?, Yandere, but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Re_Adrienne/pseuds/Re_Adrienne
Summary: Taro takes a slow breath and toys with the corner of the last page as he stares at the words until the text blurs together. He drags his index finger along the edge of the page, ignores a chill, tempts a paper cut. His controlled exhale is loud in his ears, louder than the fountain.He can feel her.





	Slow Burn

  **Monday**

He can feel her eyes on him.

It’s nearing four o’clock, and Taro has read the last chapter of his book three times over in thirty minutes. The soothing rhythm of the fountain takes up extra space in the back of his head, steadies his mind. Osana stands in front of him with her hands on her hips, long orange pigtails swaying with every swish of her hips as she rambles on without his attention. Taro takes a slow breath and toys with the corner of the last page as he stares at the words until the text blurs together. He drags his index finger along the edge of the page, ignores a chill, tempts a paper cut. His controlled exhale is loud in his ears, louder than the fountain.

He can _feel_ her.

Her silhouette hovers in his peripherals, partially hidden by the trunk of a sakura tree. He bites his tongue until he tastes copper, taps his finger on the side of his book. Osana’s chatter grates against his nerves. He can’t resist, steals a quick glance up at her, just enough to catch the way her fingers dig into the bark of the tree, the way afternoon shadows scatter across her face yet fail to conceal the hollow burn in her eyes, the intense fixation in her gaze, the soft sweep of her dark hair against her milky skin, the subtle parting of her delicate lips—Taro grits his teeth and focuses his gaze on the page, squeezing the book harder, channeling his frustration into the object. The subtle simmer under his skin is even more prominent, and he curses under his breath, arousal burning steadily in the back of his throat.

Taro has a dangerous Kouhai.

She has never introduced herself, but Taro knows who she is, knows her ticks, her abnormal behaviors. He knows her full name, knows which class she’s in, knows of her silent, loner reputation. He knows that they share a birthday month and day—April first—and can tell if she’s going to skip lunch before it happens, can see it in the line of her shoulders, the tension beneath her skin, ready to snap. He can sense her in a room before he sees her, can taste blood and strawberries in the air even through a face mask. He sees her darting out of shadows, fleeing from his sight, feels her slip through his fingers like a shadow almost every night in his dreams. It makes him restless, makes him want to grab her by the hair and make her stay still, make her _speak_.

 _Ayano_. He nearly hisses the name, can feel it crawling up his throat from his chest.

“Baka! Don’t ignore me!”

Taro inhales through his nose, counts to ten, and looks up from under his bangs at his childhood friend, shutting his book with a snap.

“I’m not,” he says, and stands up, joints aching from sitting too long. Something flickers in the corner of his eye, and he resists the urge to look her way. It’ll only run her off.

Osana tips her entire upper body forward and frowns, and for a moment they’re both in third grade again, waiting for their parents to pick them up from the park. It smooths out his irritation.

“You’re such an airhead, Taro.” She drags out the ‘a’ in his name and sticks her tongue out after.

Taro smirks and looks down at the worn corners of his book—the book he borrowed from Shin after he heard that Ayano joined the occult club. He never used to mind Osana saying his name like that. He still doesn’t, he supposes. But something about the way Ayano flinches at the sound tells him Osana should stop. The urge to look up at the sakura tree gets stronger, still. He ignores it and steps around Osana, dodging her attempt to swat his arm—for her own good—and walks right past Ayano’s hiding place with his eyes straight ahead. There’s a moment when they’re almost within an arm’s reach and it gets harder to breathe, her presence thick and warm, the typical gentle tug at his awareness becoming a hard yank until he’s several meters away from her.

The tug follows him as he walks Osana to her house, and follows him for ten minutes after, all the way to his front door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, closing his eyes and focusing on the hot pressure at the back of his neck. Her gaze is physical, unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. He takes his time on the threshold, soaking in her presence, absorbing the heat as he prepares for another night holed up in his room. Solitude is harder to stand, lately. Over the course of the month he has gradually become accustomed to never actually being alone during the day. The handle is icy cold in his hand, chilled by the breeze. He wants to turn around, to pin her down and bury his nose in her hair, to finally feel that heat up close, but he immediately dismisses the idea. She flees the second she notices his eyes on her, anyway.

Taro blinks his eyes open and stares at the black paint on the door. He shivers, feeling vaguely like a bird shedding its down feathers, turns the handle, and pushes inward.

 

**Tuesday**

Taro has never been normal. Too cold, too detached, too introverted, too aware. Normal would be _not_ following his Kouhai when he sees her from his classroom window, outside, running on the grass while holding a weapon. Taro has never been normal.

But the first time Taro hears a knife strike bone, it makes his limbs go numb with cold and his heart lurch into his throat. His knees go weak as he sags against the wall, just around the corner of the alcove with the incinerator. Air is stuck in his lungs, the sounds of gore turning his stomach over and over. He wants to vomit but can’t, wants to stop shaking but can’t. The first time Taro hears the crack of a skull hitting concrete is the worst moment in his life. But immediately after, he hears her quiet breaths pick up, hears a sob tear its way out of her throat, hears her knees hit the pavement, and its these sounds that help coax his lungs into resuming primary function, and it’s when her voice twists around the word no, no no no that he hears Ayano’s voice for the first time in a week, and even as she cries it’s just as velvety and rich as he remembers from when he last eavesdropped on her talking to Saki, every whine a shot down his spine that makes him not even want to run, makes him want to peel himself off the wall, round the corner, and throw himself at her feet, because she’s sobbing harder every second, sounds like she’s going to rip herself open at the seams any minute, and it hurts to imagine—and then silence.

Taro holds his breath. A cold sweat has broken out on his forehead, causing his bangs to stick. Skin drags against cement. Her voice is even, distant, raw in her mumbling: “I had to do it, Senpai—Senpai will forgive me, he’ll…he’ll understand, he has to—she was, she was going to steal him, she…”

Taro shuts his eyes against another shiver, scraping the back of his head against the wall, pressing his spine to stone. _Ayano_. She’s insane. She isn’t right. She needs _help_. Taro knew this, knew she was dangerous, could feel it crackle in the air around her, like the sting of electricity before a lighting storm.

He has to keep her from doing this again. He already knew she was dangerous. The thought circles through his head for hours after he stumbles away from the scene; hours after he wanders home without waiting for Osana, Ayano’s eyes burning against his back the entire way; hours into the night, until he finally manages to sleep.

He startles awake around three in the morning, harder than hell and sweating from head to toe. He kicks the sheets from his mattress, frantically ruts into his hand, comes inside his briefs, practically untouched. His chest convulses, his vision whiting out from the sheer force of his orgasm. He lies cold and shaking in his bed. A new thought begins to circle his brain:

She killed for him.

He wants her anyway.

 

**Wednesday**

News of Kokona’s disappearance spreads quickly. Her parents notified the authorities when she didn’t come home last night, and the authorities quickly notified the school. Taro finds it surprisingly easy to control his expression, years of forced socialization fine-tuning his ability to perform the appropriate sequence of confusion, concern, and sympathy.

Ayano is less practiced, sits on the grass and stares indifferently at the fountain. She hasn’t noticed him yet. Taro finds himself doing his best to remain unseen, taking up her post behind a tree, gritting his teeth when she outright shrugs in response to Saki’s mournful monologue, eyes as blank as if they were painted on. He wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. She’s going to get caught in no time, if she keeps that up. He presses his forehead to the bark and takes a deep breath, collecting himself before he pushes away from the tree and retreats back inside the building.

He’s seated at his desk, waiting for class to start, when Shin approaches him. His uniform is neatly pressed, dark circles under his eyes making his cheekbones look sharp and angular.

“My book,” he says quietly, and it takes Taro a minute to recall what he’s referring to.

Taro is about to reach into his bag for the book when a thought halts his hand. He looks up at Shin, bangs nearly poking into his eyes.

“Ayano is in your club,” he says, careful to enunciate.

Shin blinks slowly, but doesn’t react otherwise. “Yes.”

Something unpleasant curls in his gut, but he pushes it down, leaning back in his chair. “You spend a lot of time together?”

Here, Shin pauses, considering. He stands unnervingly still. “She participates in meetings,” he says, eventually.

Taro frowns, an itch building under his skin, agitating and prodding at him. “Is that a yes?”

“You have a lot of questions about Ayano,” Shin says, bluntly.

Something unfamiliar flares up in Taro’s chest, something primal. He doesn’t like the way Shin says it, doesn’t like the attitude.

“She’s my Kouhai,” he says firmly, and can’t pull his emotions back fast enough to prevent the way he stares back into Shin’s eyes. He sees the dawn of information light the other’s expression and mentally curses.

Sitting in lecture, he stares at his open palms and grits his teeth, something unrecognizable gnawing at his stomach, making him cut his eyes to the window every few minutes, just in case. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths until the moment passes.

He never does give the book back.

 

**Thursday**

It’s raining today. Taro arrived at school thirty minutes late this morning to evade his tail, is lying on his back in the middle of the gymnasium floor. His umbrella is drying out in the corner. He didn’t even bother going to class yet, figures he’ll just make the next one. He re-read the book on the occult, but it still sounds like a bunch of illogical bullshit—nothing he imagines his Kouhai is actually interested in. Symbols and chants seem like a lot of dawdling for someone who’d rather put the knife in their own hands. His stomach lurches at the thought, but he swallows it down.

He startles when the doors slam open, the wind cutting through the room, the smell of rain mixing with strawberries and blood. His heart skips a beat.

Ayano stands in the center of the threshold, hand fast to the door, chest heaving from exertion. She’s drenched head to toe, uniform completely soaked through, and from what Taro can see the rain is coming down harder than ever behind her, thunder clapping in the distance. Her eyes are wide and alive when they lock onto him, and his lungs contract at the rare chance at eye-contact, his entire body flaring up, nerves firing off warnings to run—closer or away, he can’t be sure. She jolts backward when she realizes what she’s done, and Taro slowly raises a hand, as if coaxing a wild animal, as he gradually maneuvers himself to his feet.

“Ayano,” he breathes, and swallows when she flinches, “Ayano it’s alright, it’s okay.”

She takes a hesitant step backwards, and his chest contracts painfully. She’s soaked, has probably been running around in the rain trying to find him. He hadn’t thought of that when he went off his normal schedule. He steps closer to her, adrenaline trembling through his body as she fixes her eyes on his shoes.

“Come here,” he says, aiming for gentle, and landing somewhere between nervous and forceful, but it works. She makes unsteady progress inside until the door slams shut behind her, muffling the sounds of the storm. “Come here,” he says again.

Her hair is in her usual ponytail, dripping a steady stream of water onto the linoleum, her bangs plastered to her forehead. Her lips are a chilly blue, and the closer she gets with her halting steps, the more clearly Taro can see how pale she is and how violently she’s shivering. He hastens to close the remaining distance, ignoring the way she freezes in place at his rapid approach, because she’s _his_ _Kouhai_ and yet he let this happen—he should have been more considerate, can’t just change his routine out of nowhere now that he has someone counting on him being where he’s supposed to be at the right time—

Quickly shrugging out of his jacket, he doesn’t give himself time to think before wrapping it tightly around her narrow frame, tugging her in close and wrapping himself around her, burying his fingers in the back of her wet hair and tucking her face into his neck, absorbing her trembling with his tight hold as he ignores the water soaking through his uniform from her own and inhales. Strawberries, beneath the pungent crackling scent of rain. No blood, up close. Taro breathes it in and squeezes tighter.

She’s completely rigid against him, hands clutching his uniform shirt in a death grip.

“Senpai?” she says, barely audible, but it still manages to send a chill down his spine. The word bounces around his head, a pleasant echo.

“Yes,” he answers, dragging his lips over the moist skin of her cheek, “yes.”

She quivers, and thaws.

 

**Friday**

Taro knows there are openings in his schedule when his Kouhai isn’t watching, so he has to be strategic. He chooses a moment during lunch, when he can feel her eyes on his back, to touch his hand briefly to Osana’s. His childhood friend blushes and stammers, and he feels a stab of guilt that he quickly pushes down. It’s a necessary sacrifice; Taro knows all the openings in his schedule, but there isn’t one large enough after school for him to do what he needs to do, meaning he needs to _make_ an opening. He can almost taste his Kouhai’s rage from here, even if he can’t see her. He silently offers his remorse—but he’s doing this for _them_. He brushes Osana’s hair off her face just as she gets her weekly phone call.

“Uh, I need to take this,” she says, face bright red with embarrassment, then rushes from her seat on the fountain and disappears inside the school.

Taro waits.

As soon as he feels Ayano leave, he runs from the courtyard and enters the building on the opposite side, taking the steps two at a time as he climbs the stairs.

By the time he walks into the occult club room, he’s breathing heavily, blood pulsing in his ears with every heartbeat. Shino is alone, sitting in one of the ornate chairs in the corner with his nose buried in a book. He looks up disinterestedly when Taro enters the room, but stands and places his book on the seat.

“What did you want to see me for?” he asks.

Taro glances up at the gold-painted clock on the wall, then down at the altar placed at the front of the room. His eyes focus on the ritual knife embedded in the skull, then at the long gold rope hanging down from the elaborately embroidered maroon curtains on either side of the altar. He doesn’t actually know how much time he has.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he says, eyes darting around the room from object to object— _useless, too messy, useless_...

Shino sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest, dark purple bags under his eyes more prominent than ever. “What is this, exactly?”

Taro hisses under his breath, a horrible, twisted feeling building in his chest—a cold rage that rimes his blood and threatens to freeze him from the inside-out. _What is this, exactly?_ As if he is innocent here, as if none of this is worth his precious time. Taro hates this feeling. His Kouhai is the only one who can ease this irritation, the only person in the world who burns hot enough to keep him warm—and Shino is in the way of that.

Taro has seen the way Shino leers at her, watches from afar while the pathetic worm tries to get close to her, uses the club as an excuse to hold her hand during rituals and whisper rites in her ear when he thinks Taro isn’t looking—but Taro is _always_ looking.

Taro takes a few slow steps closer to the occult club member, satisfaction curling in his stomach like a stray cat, warming itself at a hearth.

“You can’t have her, Shino,” he says, and watches the other retreat with each of his advances, walking backward toward the altar. “You don’t deserve her.”

Shino’s face contorts with alarm, and his hips rattle the table behind him.

“What…”

“Did you think I’d just let you cut in?” he says quietly, unable to suppress the condescending grin forming on his face, or the rumbling chuckle spilling from his lips, “did you think I wouldn’t see you coming?”

The other boy’s eyes widen, and Taro smiles. Ayano is _his_  Kouhai, _his_ little stalker. He intends to keep it that way.

“Can you follow me for a minute?” Taro asks, and tilts his head to the side, grin slowly fading from his face. “I have something cool to show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first post on AO3 is for Yandere Simulator how did this happen I deserve this.


End file.
